


Happy Birthday, Steve

by orphan_account



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fourth of July, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, happy birthday steve rogers, stucky through the years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-20 03:00:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7387852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve wakes up on the fourth of July - 1937-2016. Stucky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Birthday, Steve

When Steve woke up on July 4th 2012, he was alone. He got up, showered, fumbled with the coffee machine in his SHIELD-provided apartment, took out his sketchbook and perched on the window seat. 

When he’d finished his coffee, Steve stood, took his jacket off of the lone hook by the plain front door, no longer bothering to check the mat for post, and stepped out into the already oppressive New York summer air. 

He sat on the subway until he willingly gave up his seat for a heavily pregnant woman that no one else seemed to notice struggling with a pram. The thankful smile she gave him in return had been the first kindness he’d received from a non-government official since he’d returned.

He spent the day wandering around Brooklyn, remembering birthdays spent alone in a poky orphanage room whilst the other boys played in the courtyard. Even if he had been well enough to play with them he doubted they would have let him. He remembered birthdays spent at school alone in classrooms, getting into a fight after the bell rang at the end of the day. Then he remembered an absolutely appallingly drawn card thrust under his nose along with a bottle of pop on his twelfth, with a _“‘Heard it was ya’ birthday. Bucky Barnes, nice to meet you.”_   The following year had brought the biggest chocolate cake he'd ever seen on his thirteenth courtesy of Bucky’s mother. 

On his 24th he watches the bright flashes of fireworks cast shadows through his drawn curtains in an apartment that is so much more liveable than the one he and Bucky shared all those years ago but feels so far away from being a home. 

He remembers no more birthdays alone - a strong arm around his shoulders and fireworks watched from the rooftop on his seventeenth. Soft lips and whispered promises a year later.

*

_When Steve woke up on July 4th 1937 he thought he was alone. Which is why he let out a (very manly) shriek when Bucky burst through his bedroom door, diving down next to him on the bed andtaking his chin into his hand._

_“Hmm.” he said with a frown, turning Steve’s face from side to side even as he tried to bat his hands away. “Nope. Don’t look nineteen.”_

_“Shut up.” Steve grinned. “How’d you even get in here, jerk?”_

_Bucky smirked and_ god _he’d be the death of Steve._

_“Well punk,” he didn’t break eye contact as he slid his arms around Steve’s waist, “I hate to break it to you, but you got a bit of a security problem.”_  
_“Oh really?” Steve grinned, arms instantly reaching up to wrap around Bucky’s neck, hands going to his hair._  
 _“Mmhm. Left the key right under that same plant pot again.” Bucky murmurs into the crook of Steve's neck._  
 _“Really? It’s like I want you to get in.”_

_ He felt more and saw Bucky’s smile against his own.  _

_“Happy Birthday Stevie.”_

_*_

On July 4th 2013, Steve found himself at Tony Stark’s annual self-titled ‘July 4th Extravaganza’, holding a drink and feeling very out of place at the edge of a room of dancing people he didn’t know. That was until his drink was taken from him by one Natasha Romanoff who walked off with it and expected Steve to follow. 

Once they were on the roof and she’d poured his drink down the 50 storey drop she sat down in front of him and handed him a bottle. 

“Russian vodka.” she smirks with a quirk of her eyebrows. “If this doesn’t get you drunk, nothing will.” 

“It can try.” Steve smiles and Natasha clinks their glasses together.

“To America’s 25th.” 

Steve laughs. On July 5th he wakes up alone with a headache and a new sense of optimism. 

* 

_On July 4th 1938, Bucky takes Steve drinking. Steve is not used to drinking._

_“Bucky. Buck. Buuuck.”_  
“C’mon Stevie, almost there, just the steps to go.”  
_“Don’t want to, want to kiss you-”_  
_“Aaalright champ, up the steps.” Bucky chuckles. Once they’re inside and Bucky’s drawn the blinds, Steve’s all hands. Bucky catches him against his chest when he stumbles._  
 _“Hey you.” he says softly, lowing his head so that their foreheads brush, grinning when Steve lets out a god-damn_ giggle _._ _Thats all it takes before Bucky’s sweeping him up into his arms bridal style, ignoring the squawk of indignation and (measuredly, never forgetting the fragility of Steve’s bones) flinging him onto the bed._

 _Of course, Steve falls asleep before anything can happen. Bucky just pulls off his shoes and then nestles in behind him, pressing his lips to the back of his neck._  
  
“Love you, Stevie.”

_*_

On July 4th 2014, Steve is in the hospital. Sam’s gone home for the night, leaving balloons and the remains of a cake in his wake. Steve thinks he sees a dark figure in the doorway before whatever pain meds they’re pumping him full of take him under again. 

*

_July 4th, 1943._

_“To Steve Rogers!”  
“Rogers!” the Commandos chant in unison, raising tankards of beer in a bar in London. Steve smiles, shakes his head. Looks around for at least the fifteenth time in the last half hour to where Bucky’s sitting. This time, Bucky doesn’t notice. Doesn’t plaster on a fake smile that Steve can see right though. Instead his eyes are dull and his knuckles are white where they’re gripping the handle of his mug. _

_Steve almost jumps a mile when Falsworth leans toward him and mutters;  
“I’ll keep them out for an hour at least. Why don’t you go back to camp?” he nods towards Bucky, “Take him with you.”_

_His smile is warm, and Steve hopes his gratitude is conveyed in his simple “Thank you.”_

_Bucky, true to form, refuses to admit that anything is wrong even as tears gather in his eyes - and Steve has only seen Bucky cry once, when they were seven and the mangy dog they’d been feeding scraps when they passed it on the street died._

_“C’mon. Lets go. Come on.”_

_When they make it back to Steve’s tent Bucky laughs bitterly._  
  
_“I’m ruining your birthday.”_

_“Buck.”_

_When he looks up Bucky’s eyes are mournful._

_“C’mere.” Steve says, pulling him closer until he can rest his chin atop his head, arms squeezing tight. “C’mere. I’ve got you. You’re the best birthday present I ever got.” he laughs, and Bucky laughs too._

_*_

On the morning of July 4th 2015, Steve is dreaming. In the dream he’s laughing, and Bucky is laughing too.  


 

_“Oh god Stevie, you did_ what!? _”_

_“Told him he could stick his opinions where the sun don’t shine if he’s gonna look down on me for doin’ the comics.”_

_“You gonna be able to go back?”_

_“Ah sure. I paid for classes up until September anyway, unless he wants to throw the money back in my face.”_

_“Well, this probably calls for a toast.” Bucky grins, pulling out the special glasses from the cupboard and unstoppering their seldom-touched bottle of whiskey._

_“To the downfall of pretentious pricks. And to Steve Rogers. Biggest idiot in Brooklyn.”_

 

He wakes to Sam shaking his shoulder.   
  
“Steve. Natasha thinks she's got a lead on your boy.”

 

*

 

_On July 4th, 1944, Steve lies motionless in the ice, one of Bucky’s dog-tags resting atop his own._

 

_*_

 

When Steve wakes up on July 4th, 2016, he’s warm. His whole right arm is also dead.  


“Buck?”

All he gets in reply is a sleepy grumble and the feeling of Bucky snuggling in closer to his back. 

“Bucky, you gotta move, my arm’s numb.”  
“Yeah? Mine's not been feelin’ all that present either.” 

Steve lets out an exasperated huff as he feels Bucky smile against his back, and relishes the feeling of being this close for a second before rolling over. Bucky’s hair is all over the place, and he reaches out to push some back from where its fallen into his eyes. 

“Good morning.” he smiles, voice low. Bucky leans up, meeting his lips in a chaste kiss.

“Happy Birthday Stevie.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Happy 4th July to any American readers!


End file.
